A big glowing multi-colored sign of pool cues and striped balls welcomes me at the top of the stairs. Halfway up the stairs I hear cheering throughout the whole building, as the Pistons beat the Mavericks. Walking up the heavily-worn green carpeted stair-case, I tap my knuckles on the hard oak paneling on the wall.
#Kuckles subree free#
After I finish my free shot and pay for my bill, I head upstairs to Sticks Bar. Every time a train comes by, the waitresses walk around with cases of the free shot. I know right away I am getting a "Train Wreck," which is a free shot named after a derailment in 1939 that destroyed the depot. When I am about finished with my meal, I hear a train passing by blowing its horn. Each bite and sip leaves my tongue tingling with excitement, as juices from the chicken and sweet yeast from the draft special keep me wanting more. I also order an ice-cold twenty-five ounce mug perfectly filled to the rim with a Miller Lite draft special. I order my favorite dish, a marinated chicken sandwich with crisp lettuce, minus tomato on toasted white buttered bread and fries. She asks, "Would you like a drink or something to eat?" The other bartender is short, about five-foot six inches with curly brown hair to her shoulders and chocolate brown eyes. One of theīartenders is mixing a drink for a customer, while I notice she is about five-foot ten inches tall with a petite body and long straight golden blonde hair to the middle of her back and emerald green eyes. There are two female bartenders behind the bar, both very attractive and wearing very little make-up, tight blue jeans and t-shirts like the other waitresses. Plaid skirts with matching company t-shirts, walk around talking and taking food and drink orders from the customers. Most of the girls, wearing different colored short
Off behind, sitting in front of a multi-colored wall of bricks, are black cherry oak booths with black leather padding on the back rests these run down the north and south ends of the building. He wears a Jamaican-pride striped hat over the nappy gray dreadlocks that rest on the shoulders of his tie-dyed shirt. He is an older white man who sits and talks with the bartenders and enjoys his pack of cigarettes and twelve ounce bottles of Budweiser. It seems he likes this place as much as I do, maybe even more. I come across him quite often, but I do not know him. Many unfamiliar faces pack the place, and as I go to sit down on what I already know as a butt-numbing hard oak chair at the bar, I see a familiar face. Two thirty-two inch color TV's are attached to the mirrors, one showing a basketball game of the Detroit Pistons punishing the Dallas Mavericks and the other showing an interactive trivia game by NTN. In the middle of the large dimly-lit room sits a dark tan solid oak bar which wraps itself in a U-shape around a small tower of mirrors. I step inside onto the enameled ruddy brown wood floor,and I am engulfed by the scent of stale tobacco, hot grease, fresh meat off the grill and close to a hundred different colognes and perfumes. I push open the old solid oak door, which is like a touch back to the 1870s, when Aubree's originally served as the Carr Hotel. As I reach for Aubree's gold-plated handle, the moon hits me from behind like it has known me for years.
#Kuckles subree windows#
Aubree's green candy cane awnings, which hover over windows dressed in neon welcome signs and beer specials, greet me. From the moment I step out of my car and walk toward this beautiful two-story red brick building, I am given the greatest invitation.
There my mind is focused on my favorite pub, Aubree's. Every time I go back to my hometown, I take a trip to Depot Town, an historic railroad area in downtown Ypsilanti.
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